The Toadstool Millionaires:
A Social History of Patent Medicines
in America before Federal Regulation

Chapter 3: Vials and Vermifuges

James Harvey Young, PhD


And when I must resign my breath,
Pray let me die a natural death.
And bid the world a long farewell,
Without one dose of Calomel.

—The Granite Songster; Comprising
the Songs of the Hutchinson Family, 1847 [1]


Elisha Perkins was laying plans to patent his metallic tractors when, in the mid-1790's, there arrived on American shores from England a poor druggist's apprentice named Thomas W. Dyott. The young migrant settled in Philadelphia and began to earn his living at blacking shoes. By day Dyott applied the polish which by night he made, and he performed so conspicuously, doing his daubing in the wide window of his small shop, that he attracted attention. Soon he was manufacturing more polish than he himself could daub on other men's boots. The surplus he sold to others. In time Dyott accumulated enough capital to undertake a larger venture. The field of enterprise he chose was patent medicines. At first he opened a store. Early in the new century he acquired a "warehouse." Before long he moved to an even larger establishment which he called the American Dispensatory. Early in his career as nostrum monger, Dyott had drawn on his experience as an apprentice pharmacist and had begun making his own brands of patent medicines. This new departure was a very shrewd move indeed [1].

That same wave of cultural nationalism that lifted Perkins' tractors to such a dizzy height launched many packaged nostrums, Dyott's among them, on less sensational but longer lasting careers. As early as 1800, with the trend barely begun, an observing newspaper editor was to note it. "Perhaps no past age in the history of this country," he wrote, "has teemed with such a multitude of medical mountebanks as the present. The venders of patent medicines in almost every capital town in the United States are fattening on the weakness and folly of a deluded public ." [2]

The medicine men, of course, put entirely another face on the matter and posed as savers of mankind, and salvation was possible in abundance. Whereas a 1771 Philadelphia drug catalog had listed no American proprietary brands, a New York catalog for 1804 devoted by far the majority of its eighty to ninety nostrums to American names [3]. The nature of advertising copy was changing too. Some of that boldness which had marked the London prose of Dr. Hill now began to assert itself in behalf of American nostrums. The localism of colonial days gave way, as several proprietors, anxious to sell their remedies far and wide, began to insert column-long advertisements in papers throughout the expanding nation. Few colonial products had borne distinctive names—the most vivid in seventy years of the Boston News-Letter was The Noble Mummy, and it designated a remedy not for people but for trees [4]. Now greater ingenuity was displayed, and Sovereign Ointments, Grand Restoratives, and Damask Lip-Salves came on the market.

Illustrative of this first independent generation of American patent medicine promoters are four men, all of whom bore, strangely enough, a surname famous in the annals of American history. The name was Lee.

First in the field was Samuel Lee, Jr., of Windham, Connecticut. This Lee won the distinction of being the first American to patent a medicine. In 1796, a few months after Perkins had patented his tractors, Lee applied for and secured governmental protection for an invention that bore the name of "Bilious Pills." The specifications for this remedy were burned in a patent office fire, but a later dispensatory gave the ingredients as gamboge, aloes, soap, and nitrate of potassa. This list conformed in one respect to a point the proprietor kept repeating insistently: his pills contained no mercury. Lee was positive as well as negative, and the list of diseases which the pills would cure ran on and on. Guarded proudly by the American eagle, Lee's remedy went forth to battle not mere biliousness, but yellow fever, jaundice, dysentery, dropsy, worms, and female complaints [5].

Samuel Lee is a shadowy figure, but some traits of his character may be deduced. He had ingenuity, since he was the first American to patent a pill. He possessed vigor, for he made a success of his patent by marketing techniques scarcely exploited by American entrepreneurs. He was equipped with imagination, as the cleverness of his advertising attests. One more trait is evident from the scanty record. Samuel Lee had an abundant capacity for indignation. Well he might, for three years after he had begun selling his pills, another Samuel Lee began to trespass on his preserve.

Samuel H. P. Lee was a physician from the same Connecticut town where Elisha Perkins lived. Lee, indeed, had been cited in praise of the tractors in one of Perkins' early promotional brochures. In 1799 this Dr. Lee also secured a patent, and the name of his medical invention was "Bilious Pills." The coincidence seemed too great. The original Samuel, obviously angry, addressed the public on the subject of his upstart rival. After the launching of his own pills, he wrote, "the demand soon became so great and benefits . . . so amply demonstrated," that the New London scoundrel, thinking to "take advantage of the similarity of names and of the credit of my Pills," obtained his patent. The public needed warning. "If people incautiously purchase his Pill for mine," cautioned Samuel, Jr., "I shall not be answerable for their effects." [6]

The New London brand was composed of more ingredients than was the Windham brand of bilious pills, the potent mixture containing, according to the dispensatory, aloes, scammony, gamboge, jalap, soap, syrup of buckthorn, and calomel. Both pills were potent purgatives. Samuel, Jr., did not let the public overlook Samuel H. P.'s calomel, a form of mercury.

The national appetite for bilious pills proved to be enormous. Drug catalogs listed both varieties, and the Connecticut rivals fought each other from nearby newspaper columns with an acerbity worthy of their English ancestors. The vigor of the competition may have boosted the sale of both brands. When fourteen years had expired, each patent was renewed, and the battle raged on. Nor was it limited to Connecticut and the surrounding states. Early in the 19th century, bilious pills were being sold in Georgia and in the newly-acquired territory west of the Mississippi River.

The fight against biliousness was not monopolized by the two Connecticut Lees, not even within the Lee clan. Two other Lees marketed bilious pills. By 1800 a Richard Lee & Company was operating a patent medicine store in Baltimore, both for the city trade and for a regional market. Several years later Richard Lee moved on, bearing his brands with him, to the greener pastures of New York City. At the same time a Michael Lee came on the scene in Baltimore. It is tempting to speculate that Richard and Michael were members of the same family and that the former, in departing, left the latter to carry on the nostrum business at the old stand.

Whether or not this surmise be so, Michael in time became Richard's competitor. A Washington paper for 1813 reveals the New York Lee seeking to persuade the sickly in the nation's capital to buy Hamilton's Grand Restorative, his Genuine Essence and Extract of Mustard, his Elixir, his Worm-Destroying Lozenges, whereas the Baltimore Lee bade them purchase Lee's Grand Restorative, his Genuine Essence and Extract of Mustard, his Elixir, and his Lozenges [7].

Not all American entrants in the promising field of nostrum promotion were Lees. A man named Church, for example, coined a pretty phrase for his vegetable lotion: "Cream drawn from Violets and Milk from Roses!!" [8] A man named Dyott surpassed all his rivals during the first generation and became the king of nostrum makers in the American republic.

At the start Dyott relied heavily on a compound for the cure of "a certain disease," but soon he was producing a long line of remedies similar to those of Richard and Michael Lee. Most of these creations bore the name of a Dr. Robertson. This worthy, Dyott asserted in his advertising, was his own grandfather, a distinguished physician in Edinburgh. The enterprising editor of a Philadelphia medical journal, looking into the matter, discovered that there had been no noted Dr. Robertson in Edinburgh for nearly two centuries. This intelligence did not disturb Dyott in the least. He went on vending Robertson's Infallible Worm Destroying Lozenges and the other priceless preparations devised by his honored progenitor, and he made bold to claim a more lofty dignity himself, assuming the title of Doctor of Medicine and fabricating a tale of long experience as a physician in London, the West Indies, and Philadelphia.

Business boomed. Dr. Dyott's advertisements were displayed prominently in daily papers, of the Eastern cities and occupied columns of space in the rural weeklies of the hinterland. Better to service his far-flung market, Dyott established agencies in New York, Cincinnati, New Orleans, and other cities. His advertisements featured drawings of large Conestoga wagons being loaded from his capacious warehouses with nostrums for the South and West. Besides his own brands, Dyott distributed the old English patent medicines, and the pills and potions of his rivals, among them the bilious pills of Samuel H. P. Lee.

As Thomas Dyott, early in his career, had expanded from blacking to nostrums, so later he enlarged his enterprises again and again. Living in the day of a barter economy, the shrewd merchandiser accepted produce for patent medicines. Soon he was dealing in such things as tobacco and turpentine, peach brandy and rum, candles and castor oil. The scope of his nostrum sales required thousands of bottles, an article he had first required while vending blacking, so Dyott acquired, first, an interest in a glass works, and then full ownership of a large factory on the Delaware River near Philadelphia. Dyott not only undercut the prices of imported British glassware, but soon was turning out the best grade of bottle glass in America. One product of his factory, preserved in the Smithsonian Institution, was a double portrait flask, honoring those two distinguished adopted sons of Philadelphia, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Dyott [10].

By the 1830's Dyott was living extravagantly on a princely income of $25,000 a year. His personal estate was said to be worth $250,000. He dressed oddly and drove about in style, with four horses attached to his elegant English coach and several outriders in attendance. A man with such expansive vision who had achieved so much was perhaps bound to fancy himself a humanitarian. A pioneer at price-cutting, Dyott had offered to sell his remedies to the "laboring poor at one-half the usual price." For his own laborers he sought to turn his factory into a sort of model community. Whatever the proportion of alcohol in his remedies, the nostrum king permitted no spirituous liquors in Dyottsville. He made this clear in a high-toned pamphlet composed by his own hand and garnished with classical quotations. Nor was his establishment to be disgraced by swearing, fighting, or gambling. Infractions brought deductions from pay. The former druggist's apprentice decreed that his own hundred apprentices, who lived on the grounds, be taught reading, writing, arithmetic, and singing. They must also bathe and go to Sunday School. They worked a ten-hour day.

The benevolent baron of Dyottsville owed his success to other factors besides his own business skill. Fundamental, of course, was the fact that people were still getting sick. The status of medical knowledge was little advanced over that of the colonial years, and the status of therapy was, if anything, worse. These were the days of "heroic" medication. This circumstance was due most of all to the patriotic Benjamin Rush. In 1793 Rush had valiantly stayed by Philadelphia while his native city was ravaged by the most terrible yellow fever epidemic in its history, the disaster that had taken the lives of Perkins' daughter and her family. Rush tried many remedies, but none of them helped. Overburdened and despondent and ill, desperately anxious to find a cure for the mysterious affliction, Rush can scarcely be blamed for not being cold-bloodedly scientific. The distraught physician, like many contemporary European doctors, speculated his way to a monistic theory of disease. He grasped at the conclusion that all fevers, indeed all diseases, were caused by excess excitability of the blood vessels. Hypertension being the sole cause, relief of this pressure was the sole cure. Rush raised the use of bleeding and purging—ancient treatments—to phenomenal heights. At times, he said, it might be necessary to remove eighty per cent of the body's blood. Rush's enormous influence, coupled with the self-confident way in which he advocated his theories, won the day over rival claimants and dominated American medicine for more than a generation. Throughout the country Rush's disciples deliberately bled the ill to unconsciousness—and now and then to death—and prescribed such tremendous doses of calomel that patients lost teeth and even jawbones [11].

Confronted with this demand for heroism, many Americans responded with timidity. They eschewed the rugged regimen of regular doctors and listened to patent medicine vendors who promised them an easier way. A mild and pleasant mode of treatment was a stock appeal in nostrum advertising. Very early, promoters began to decry the excessive use of mercury. The rigorous "mercurial disease" was included in the long list of ailments that their remedies would cure, and they swore solemnly—whether it was true or not—that there was no calomel in their concoctions. Samuel Lee, Jr., boasted that Samuel H. P.'s bilious pills contained mercury whereas his own did not. Dyott's remedy for "a certain disease" was touted as non-mercurial. Indeed, according to a cynical observer, one requisite for the success of any patent medicine was for its maker to attack the brutal therapy of the regular doctor. The nostrum salesman must "pronounce the surgeon's lancet a Bowie or an Indian scalping-knife, and calomel equal in properties to a mixture of arsenic, cicuta, and verdigris."[12]

As to palatability, patent medicine makers were sometimes pioneers. Swaim's Panacea, as we shall presently see, owed much of its success to a delicious flavor. Sugar-coated pills, far easier to swallow than the crude and often horrid-tasting concoctions prepared by physicians, were given their large-scale introduction into American dosage by patent medicine makers like Zadoc Porter and C. V. Clickener. "Heretofore," Clickener advertised, "medicine in almost all its forms was nearly as disgusting as it was beneficial." But "CLICKENER'S PURGATIVE PILLS, being completely enveloped with a COATING OF PURE WHITE SUGAR (which is as distinct from the internal ingredients as a nut shell from the kernal) HAVE NO TASTE OF MEDICINE." [13]

While the "heroic" age of medication still held sway, new problems of health arose to plague the citizen and prompt the nostrum maker. Industrialization and urbanization, in their early stages, had serious consequences for man's well-being. The urban worker labored long hours, with low pay, tending unprotected machines, endangered by physical exhaustion, emotional tension, and financial insecurity. He and his family lived in the early crowded filthy slums. After 1815 mortality began to rise and, despite better control of smallpox and greater publicity given to personal hygiene, adult death rates did not decline. Tuberculosis was on the increase, as were the dread fevers—typhoid, typhus, and yellow—and in 1831 cholera began to stalk the American landscape [14].

All this was fertile ground in which the seeds of quackery might grow. The market was flooded with pulmonic syrups and pectoral lozenges, and many were the warning voices like that of the Rev. Dr. Bartholomew. Under the ominous heading, "Last Day," the proprietor of this Expectorant Syrup asserted that consumption "usually sweeps into the grave, hundreds of the young, the old, the fair, the lovely and the gay," and he pointed a hypothetical finger at the reader. "Have you a cough?—Do not neglect it!—Thousands have a premature death from the want of a little attention to the common cold." It was not only medicines that sold well: there was a brisk market in such items as Waterproof Anti-Consumptive Cork Soles and Medicated Fur Chest Protectors. The slow course of pulmonary consumption, the ups and downs along the way, made the disease one for which quacks could prescribe with less risk than for swift epidemic diseases with more clearcut symptoms. Nevertheless, even for such a scourge as cholera, nostrum promoters were eager to try. One remedy was heralded as made from a formula recorded in hieroglyphics on a papyrus scroll found under the mummified head of an Egyptian pharaoh. Another was promoted as a famous Near Eastern cure, which had wrought wonders in Bethlehem and Jerusalem, in Sodom and Gomorrah [15].

Other features of the complex interrelationship between disease, regular physicians, and nostrum makers will merit consideration in the chapters which follow. The sale of nostrums expanded not solely for causes strictly within the medical domain. There were non-medical developments in early 19th-century American society which helped the patent medicine man.

One was the spread of newspapers. The great expansion of the press between the day of Jefferson and that of Lincoln, from some 200 to 4,000 papers, is both an evidence and a cause of the nostrum boom that accompanied it. The nostrum promoter counted on the press as the most likely vehicle to carry his message to potential customers, and the papers depended on patent medicine advertising for needed revenue. Rural weeklies sprang up as the frontier moved westward, and virtually every county boasted its own gazette. In the growing towns, mechanization revolutionized the business of publishing. The America of 1800 had some 20 daily papers. By 1860 there were 400. Cheaper paper and larger presses turned by steam power were necessary before Benjamin Day, in 1833, could bring out in quantity a penny paper for the urban masses. Day's Sun and its imitators in New York and elsewhere employed a more vivid style in handling more sensational themes than had the staid political party organs of an older day. The frenetic tone of news story and editorial in the new penny press was echoed in the advertising columns. Nostrum promoters found a new and susceptible class of urban patrons to read their appeals [16].

During these same years common schooling was imparting the ability to read to an ever-greater proportion of the American populace. New England and New York began to provide free schooling to the children of the poor, and by 1860 the principle of educating the common man was well established in the North and West. Constantly diminishing was the number of humble citizens too illiterate to puzzle out the gory symptoms and the glorious cures described in plain blunt English by Thomas Dyott and his competitors [17].

The federal government helped promote the nostrum boom, mostly unwittingly. In 1793 Congress enacted a law under the Constitutional provision permitting legislation to "promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts" by granting patents to inventors, and the anti-bilious Lees demonstrated that this law applied to pills. Few aspiring nostrum promoters, however, availed themselves of this opportunity. Despite the laxness of the law, which did not require that an applicant show either the novelty or utility of his wares, only some seventy-five patents for pills, ointments, salves, bitters, and other medicinals were granted before a newer and tougher measure was passed in 1836, and few of the patentees came even close to the Samuel Lees in the scope of their sales. Most applicants were humble and obscure, sending in their requests from hamlets like Crawford, Arkansas, and Rattlesnake Springs, Georgia. One name on the list was well known around the country, that of Lorenzo Dow, an itinerant evangelist, not a quack doctor, who patented a Family Medicine to dispense along with the Christian faith. By and large patent applications came from simple-minded folk unused to the clever ways of the commercial world. The shrewd could secure other forms of governmental protection for their nostrums without revealing, as a patent application required, the ingredients in the remedies [18].

Manufacturers of packaged medicines patented not the medicine or its method of composition but the distinctive shape of the container. They secured copyrights on the label, on promotional literature wrapped around the nostrum, and on display posters to be affixed to tree and fence. A copyright, under a federal law of 1831, lasted for twenty-eight years and was renewable for fourteen more. Another form of promotion permitted one badge of proprietorship to live presumably forever: the trademark. The subject was not yet a federal matter, being a product of the common law. But the distinctive symbol could be defended in the courts. The fiercely competitive patent medicine industry, with a history of upstart challenging established proprietor, made judicial history in this domain [19].

In the 1840's, after years of agitation, Congress enacted markedly lower postal rates. Since a free press was a bulwark of democracy, editors were permitted to use the mails to send their papers without postal charge to subscribers who lived within the county of publication. This prompted an increase in subscriptions and enlarged once more the readers who could learn about the healing virtues of cathartic and catholicon. The new postal laws also helped medicine makers by letting them mail more cheaply than before their brochures, simulated newspapers, and other "direct mail" promotion [20].

Patent and copyright legislation, the expansion of means for advertising, rapid growth in the population of the country, the unabated suffering from many ailments, the spirit of therapeutic laissez-faire in a democratic age—all these were factors broadening the market for vendors of packaged remedies. It was a tempting prospect. Nor was making the panacea a major obstacle. It was a simple task, as an Ohio editor pointed out, for "Any idle mechanic" to launch a nostrum. He "by chance gets a dispensatory, or some old receipt book, and poring over it, or having it read to him. . . , he finds that mercury is good for the itch, and old ulsers; that opium will give ease; and that a glass of antimony will vomit. Down goes the hammer, or saw, razor, awl, or shuttle—and away to make electuaries, tinctures, elixirs, pills, plasters and poultices." [21]

Promotion was much more difficult than production. For every Thomas Dyott there were a hundred small proprietors who lacked a certain business acumen to enable them to push a small venture into an outstanding success. Some hopeful proprietors failed altogether. Others plugged ahead on a village basis. Only a few became titans of the industry, men whose products were household words across the land.

The big-scale patent medicine maker, during the early decades of the 19th century, blazed a merchandising trail. He was the first American manufacturer to seek out a national market. He was the first producer to help merchants who retailed his wares by going direct to consumers with a message about the product. He was the first promoter to test out a multitude of psychological lures by which people might be enticed to buy his wares. While other advertising in the press was drab, his was vivid; while other appeals were straightforward, his were devilishly clever. The patent medicine promoter was a pioneer, marching at the head of a long procession of other men with ships and shoes and sealing wax to sell.

Thomas Dyott was one of these giants, but the benevolent baron of Dyottsville suffered a sad fate. Once again branching out, he established a bank. Moved by the same philanthropy that had prompted his model factory, Dyott promised "to give to the meritorious working man the full legal interest which he ought always to obtain for his savings." But this laudable aim could not be long fulfilled. In 1837 financial disaster struck the nation, and panic engulfed the bank. To save his various holdings, Dyott parceled out his stock among relatives and took refuge in bankruptcy. Creditors persuaded Pennsylvania state officials to sue the nostrum maker for fraudulent insolvency. Dyott's conduct, the prosecuting attorney told the jury, could be summed up as "systematic wholesale cheating." After hearing the evidence, the jury agreed. The moral elevation and the virtuous habits Dyott had sought to inculcate in his employees did not save him. Nor did the fact that he had once given money to build a church. A man in his late sixties, Dyott was sentenced to from one to seven years at hard labor. He was pardoned before the expiration of his term [22].

Such a blow from fortune might have caused the one-time bootblack to wish that he had limited his sphere of business action to manufacturing patent medicines. This at least was safely within the law. It was to this more circumscribed career of nostrum vendor that Dyott returned after his release from prison. He had lost his throne as nostrum king and he did not win it back. His post-depression activities were restricted in size and geographical compass. But he did have time to acquire another modest fortune before he died, during his ninetieth year, in 1861.

Dyott's career spanned more than half a century, the years in which the native American nostrum trade became soundly established. Some phases of this early history deserve more detailed investigation. Let us next inquire into the career of patent medicine making's most dedicated disciple of democracy.

References

  1. Material on Dyott is drawn from newspaper advertising and the following: Phila. Med. Museum, 6 (1809), 58-62, and ns 1 (1811), 52-56; Joseph W. England, ed., The First Century of the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy (Phila., 1922), 19; George S. and Helen McKearin, American Glass (N.Y., 1941), 468-70; Dyott, An Exposition of the System of Moral and Mental Labor, Established at the Glass Factory of Dyottsville; M. I. Wilbert, "America's First Cutter," Bull. Pharm., 18 (1904), 237-38; Carmita de Soims Johns, "Thomas W. Dyott," Pa. Museum Bull., 22 (1926), 226-34; Dictionary of American Biography, (N.Y., 1928-1958), V, 586-87; obituary in Phila. Press, Jan. 19, 1861.
  2. N.Y. Daily Advertiser, Sep. 18, 1800, citing Gazette of the U.S.
  3. Catalogus Medicinarum, et Pharmacorum (Phila., 1771); Joel and Jotham Post, A Catalogue of Drugs, Medicines & Chemicals (N.Y., 1804). Both are in the Library of Congress.
  4. Mass. Gaz. and Boston News-Letter, June 20, 1765.
  5. Material on the four Lees is drawn from newspaper advertisements, Baltimore city directories, broadsides in the Amer. Antiquarian Soc., and from these works: Lyman F. Kebler, "United States Patents Granted for Medicines during the Pioneer Years of the Patent Office," Jnl. Amer. Pharmaceutical Assoc., 24 (1935), 486-87; Dispensatory of the United States (10th ed., Phila., 1854), 75n.
  6. Columbian Museum & Savannah [Ga.] Advertiser, Sep. 29, 1802.
  7. Wash. National intelligencer, Jan. 7 and Aug. 7, 1813.
  8. N.Y. Spectator, Aug. 31, 1799.
  9. Phila. Med. Museum, ns 1 (1811), 52-54.
  10. Division of Medical Sciences, Smithsonian Institution.
  11. Richard Shryock, Development of Modern Medicine, 3-4, 30-31; James T. Flexner, Doctors on Horseback (N.Y., 1944), 101.
  12. W. Euen, An Essay in the Form of a Lecture, on Political and Medical Quackery (Phila., 1843), 34.
  13. Glenn Sonnedecker and George Griffenhagen, "A History of Sugar Coated Pills and Tablets," Jnl. Amer. Pharmaceutical Assoc. (Practical Pharmacy Ed.), 18 (1957), 486-88.
  14. Shryock, 103-104, 212-17, 228-34; Lemuel Shattuck, Report of the Sanitary Commission of Massachusetts, 1850 (Cambridge, Mass., 1948), 104.
  15. Springfield Ill. State Register, Oct. 12, 1839; Harcourt, Bradley & Co. brochure, Oct. 1854, in author's collection; Anodyne ad cited in John W. Allen, "Cholera," 1955 mimeographed news release in series, "It Happened in Southern Illinois"; Frederick [Md.] Weekly Times, Oct. 4, 1832.
  16. Mott, American Journalism, 167, 220-44; S. N. D. North, History and Present Condition of the Newspaper and Periodical Press of the United States (Wash., 1884), 81, 187, 100-104.
  17. Merle Curti, The Growth of American Thought (N.Y., 1943), 360-61.
  18. Kebler, 487; Patent Medicines, House Report No. 52, 30 Cong., 2 ses. (1849), 4-29; Charles C. Sellers, Lorenzo Dow, The Bearer of the Word (N.Y., 1928), 200-202.
  19. John S. Billings, "American Invention and Discoveries in Medicine, Surgery, and Practical Sanitation," Celebration of the Beginning of the Second Century of the American Patent System at Washington, D.C. (Wash., 1892), 414; Richard R. Bowker, Copyright, Its History and Its Laws (Boston, 1912), 35-37; Amass C. Paul, The Law of Trade-Marks (St. Paul, 1903), 22-24, 56.
  20. North, 137-54.
  21. Portsmouth [Ohio] Jnl., cited in Madge E. Pickard and R. Carlyle Buley, The Midwest Pioneer: His Ills, Cures & Doctors (N.Y., 1946), 286.
  22. F. Cyril James, "The Bank of North America and the Financial History of Philadelphia," Pa. Mag. Hist. and Biog., 64 (1940), 76-77; The Highly Interesting and Important Trial of Dr. T. W. Dyott, the Banker, for Fraudulent Insolvency (Phila., circa 1839), in the Hist. Soc. of Penna.; Phila. Press, Jan. 19, 1861.
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